By the time I’m finished, Noah looks worse than he probably did before. The flap of skin that I was able to salvage on his jawline is stretched up to his cheekbones, covering the majority of his missing cheek, shielding what muscles are left from the elements. All around the wound, skin is stretched tight, trying to pull his face together. It doesn’t look pretty and he’s not going to be winning any beauty pageants for a while, but I’m satisfied and very confident about it. What fear I used to have for him surviving is starting to burn away. If the sutures hold and his tissue begins the healing process, he might actually have a chance. I give him what pain medication I have in the proper dosage along with the few antibiotics we have left. I know that Greg is going to need antibiotics as well, so I try to run down the numbers and the supply that we have.
I look at Noah, who is peacefully slumbering, and wonder if he’s actually going to make it. If he survives this, I may owe him an apology for the way I’ve spoken to him recently. I’ve never looked forward to apologizing before, but his survival will make me happier than I can recall being in a long time. Not only will I have saved the life of a friend, but we’ll still have a fourth member to our party. There’s safety in numbers and Noah has proven to be one of the better marksmen in the group, probably the best. I smile at him peacefully sleeping. Stuffing the medical supplies in my bag, I head to the nearest bathroom I can find.
It’s in the master bedroom that I find the medicine cabinet and hit the jackpot. They have all sorts of great goodies that you’d expect to find in a rich person’s house. I loot the medicine cabinet and marvel at the fact that the upper floors of this house have remained relatively unmolested over the passing months. Maybe there just isn’t much travel coming this way along the 75. Maybe the people who were defending and holding out in this place just recently moved on, or were killed off in the attack. I wonder what happened to them while I clean the palms of my savaged hands. Picking out the pieces of glass, I quickly do what I can to prevent infection, cleaning them and dressing them as neatly as I can. They’re really starting to ache and I’m glad that I got Noah’s work done before the pain really started to come. The gashes aren’t deep, but there’s a lot of them. It’ll be a while before my hands don’t remind me of hamburger.
I turn toward the sound of voices downstairs and listen to the wind outside and the rolling of thunder. Rain is pelting the roof and I am surprised at how all of it drowned out in the passing hours of working with Noah. It’s then that I have an epiphany.
Noah might survive if we could find him some sort of mask or guard against the elements. It’ll give him time to heal without the exposure to the clouds of dust or the heat. If we could find some sort of mask to adhere to the side of his face, it might also keep him from being self-conscious about his situation; granted, that’s a long shot and quite the stretch. He’s going to be permanently disfigured and no amount of hiding it under masks is going to stop that. I look around the house and wonder if they have a Halloween costume box hidden in the attic or down in that cellar we didn’t investigate. They might have some really nice Venetian masquerade mask that I could outfit to hide his disfigurement.
Pushing myself up, I look at my face in the mirror and hardly recognize who I am. I look like I’m the one wearing a mask right now. Everything, my face, my hair, all of it is gray and speckled with black dots from the storm. I’m not the girl I remember. I reach up and touch my face, feeling the layer of grit and filth between my fingers and my face. I feel like a corpse, risen from the grave. Looking at myself, staring into my own eyes, I feel like everything has changed.
Turning away from the mirror and slinging my pack over my shoulder, I decide that it’s time for me to go join the others. I’m not sure how long I’ve been up here with Noah, but it would be nice to hear something other than my thoughts. As I make my way down the stairs, I look at the door where Greg has shoved a table and a chair in front of it to keep it closed. In my absence, he’s been busy. The broken windows have been covered and he’s attempted to get all of the clutter out of the way, tossing it into piles in the corner of the rooms. I can hear them talking in the kitchen during the lulls between the gusts and the booms of thunder that ripple and shake the house. I walk toward the kitchen, looking at Greg stuffing his bag with supplies as if he is preparing to leave.
I take a deep breath, deciding that there’s nothing to it. I am seeing phantoms where there are none. All I have to do is walk in there and start talking to him and Lexi. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how to socialize with my sister and boyfriend. I feel like I’m being silly. I just feel so weak and exhausted. Maybe I should take a nap or something. No, I need to find plastic bags or something to start outfitting Noah’s room to help him survive this ordeal. I need to keep working so that he can survive all of this. I take a step forward, hoping that I can find garbage bags in the pantry.
Chapter Twenty
“What are you looking for?” Greg asks me when I step into the enormous pantry. I think this is what some people call a larder, and I wonder if that is where the term lard-ass comes from. It’s enormous with copious amounts of empty cans and boxes covering the shelves. The boxes are moldy and falling in on themselves. Everything is rotting and as I look at the amount of stuff that’s packed away in this room, all I see is garbage. Whoever was here before us ate pretty much everything that was in the house. Everything is completely gone that is of practical, basic value. Sure, there’s lots of stuff in this house, but it’s not food or water. It’s not surgical supplies. There’s just a lot of excess that can be used for superfluous luxuries. I grab some of the boxes, rattling them, feeling the squishy cardboard and shuddering before dropping it. Whatever is inside of the box is thick and chunky, not at all what I wanted to hear.
I look over at Greg who is still in the kitchen, digging through the cupboards, hunting for something that might be useful. There’s nothing for him to find. Not in here. The people who entered by force took what they needed and left in a hurry. I don’t want to think of what the reasons behind that would have been, but that’s how this house looks to me. Everything that wasn’t of immediate value was left before they vanished.
“I want to find some of those big, black garbage bags,” I finally answer Greg.
“What for?” he asks as he knocks over a bunch of pots.
“I want to try and build a sterile environment for Noah,” I tell him, not really sure why he’s acting like he’s looting the place. “The more dust we can keep off of his wound, the better he’s going to fare in the long run. He’s going to need a lot of work and time to heal.”
“Val.” I hear Lexi’s voice outside the pantry and I’m a bit surprised. I had momentarily forgotten that she was still in the room. I turn and look at her. She’s standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the refrigerator. “We can’t stay here and wait for Noah to get better.”
“Why not?” I look at her quizzically. “Why couldn’t we stay here? There’s plenty of room and creature comforts and it’s not like there’s anything around here that’s offering us any other alternatives. If we want Noah to survive, then we have to give him the chance to heal. We can’t just drag him across the country with us or he’s going to get an infection and die. Besides, the work alone to help save him is going to be enormous. We may need to cauterize the wound.”
“He’s not going to make it,” Lexi tells me with teary eyes but her voice is strong, determined, like she’s telling me a fact that she’s already accepted. This is the way of the world and Lexi has deemed it so. I look at Greg who is looking out the windows surrounding the dining room with his arms folded as well, like he’s trying to keep his distance from this argument.
“I didn’t know you were a trauma doctor, Lexi,” I say to her, not believing what I’m hearing. It’s almost as if the two of them have come together and decided that we can just put this to a vote.
“Neither are you,” Lexi snaps at me. “For Christ’s sake, Val, you stitched up ca
ts and dogs for a living, not this kind of work. We don’t have the supplies or the ability to treat him. It pains me and kills me to say it, but every second we wait here, helping Noah, the closer we get to another dangerous incident.”
“And how exactly do you figure that?” I ask her, frowning at the whole thought of just abandoning Noah.
“This house is in the middle of nowhere,” Greg says, turning and looking at me with cold, merciless eyes. “It’s going to be a beacon to anyone that’s passing through. We don’t have the supplies to hold it if someone comes sniffing around. We don’t have the men and we don’t have the bullets. If we wait here for Noah to heal, there’s a good chance that we won’t walk out of this house. If we’re still making our way to Dayton, then we need to keep going.”
“So what? We just put a bullet in Noah and go on our way?” I lift an eyebrow, my fingers trembling as I look at them. “Or were you going to leave him a few MREs and a bullet for him to do it himself after a while, that way you have a clear conscience about all of it?”
“I love Noah,” Lexi growls at me. “You don’t think this is killing me?”
“I’m beginning to wonder,” I shout at them.
“You know where I stand,” Greg says, throwing up his arms and waving us off like we’re being childish about this whole thing. He walks toward the doorway that leads out of the kitchen and into the back room. I don’t even watch him leaving as he speaks again over his shoulder to us. “If we leave him, I’ll do it. I’m the one who shot him, after all. It should be me who finishes it. That’ll hang on me, Val. I’ll take that one.”
Lexi looks at me, holding my gaze as Greg disappears. I don’t know what to say to her. I look at her and all I feel is contempt and hatred for her. We could be doing something marvelous here. We could be saving Noah’s life and getting some stability with my nephew, but that’s too much for all of them. All they care about at this moment is their own lives. They’re driven by fear.
I can hear Greg opening a door, walking down creaking boards, and all I can think of is how badly I want to slap Lexi again. It’s like we’re right back where we started and I don’t like it. I don’t like having the feeling that my sister is a complete and utter psychopath. I don’t like that she’s gone completely insane. I can’t tolerate being around her, but that’s just the way it is. I want to spit in her face, but I’m not that kind of person. Unlike her, I can keep it together. I’m not weak, broken. I look at her and I hardly see the girl that I grew up with anymore. After all, when it all boils down to it, I’m bearing the weight of this whole endeavor on my shoulders, but it was her to first call for us to go.
It was Lexi who had to throw the dramatic tantrum that led us all down the dark and bloody road that led us here. Sure, I followed her, even championed her idea, but I’m not holding on to that burden. I’m the one who has been resilient, on the watch, changing to fit the circumstances. I’m not the one who has been silent or behind the front line through all of this. I’ve been the vanguard and the slave carrying the weight of this journey, but no more. If this is who I’m with, then so be it. Everyone for themselves. Fuck it. They’re either with me or not.
There’s a loud crash, followed by a boom that causes me to flinch. I can hear it over the deluge and torrential winds outside. For a life-altering second, I’m struck with paralyzing fear that Greg has gone upstairs to finish the job. But then I realize that the crash was much closer than Noah’s room. It couldn’t possibly be what my darkest fears and exhausted mind is breeding inside of me, and curiosity spurs me to action. Lexi, already drawing her pistol, is standing motionless, listening for sounds of movement. I can hear Greg on the steps and I know exactly where he is.
Rushing over the threshold, I stand with my eyes wide, staring at Greg on his back, pumping his shotgun again and firing into the darkness of the basement. The look on his face is twisted, contorted with anger and terror as I watch him open fire again. The muzzle flash sends blinding white light flashing in front of my eyes, reminding me of the truck, causing me a moment to pause. I can see that Greg’s legs are still dangling in the darkness of the stairwell leading down into the shadows, but it isn’t until he is violently pulled into the darkness that I truly begin to worry.
I don’t scream. I don’t do anything at first as I hear the pounding. All I can do is listen to the soft ringing in my ears and the sound of the storm raging outside. It takes a moment for me to gather my wits, regrouping to try and find something that will help me save my boyfriend. Reaching behind my back, I break the snap free of the holster and pull my Sig loose. I charge the doorway and turn on whatever is lurking in the darkness. I can see Greg’s head as he tries to fire again, but he’s not able to free himself of those that accost him. Getting a good sight on what has him, I feel horrified that they’d been here the whole time, right under our feet.
The mystery of where everyone went that had been living in this house is now abundantly clear to me as I look at the horde of flesh-eating monsters hidden away in the basement. I look into the darkness at the faces staring up at me, gazing at me with bright, ravenous eyes. The madness written in their pupils makes my skin crawl. I have never felt such a palpable presence of feral hunger. Their bodies jerk in irregular motions as they climb like a swarm of ants, up the stairs, dragging down the meal that is Greg.
It’s like I’m looking at the puppets and the strings are tensing, dancing while they twist and contort with vile, ravenous hatred. They’re coming for Greg and I feel terror gripping me with such power that it makes me want to scream, but the strength of the terror is caught in my throat. With my hand locked around the Sig, I draw the pistol and point it at the faces that are clawing up with gnarled fingers toward Greg. Without hesitating, I squeeze off the first shot, hitting the creature that is looming over Greg in the throat.
Blood squirts out of the monster’s neck, gushing all over Greg as he pumps his shotgun one more time and fires, missing whatever the hell he was aiming at. The dying monster flings itself backwards, gripping the geyser of blood that is launching out of his neck before slipping and toppling backwards into the shadows of gripping hands and clawing fingers. It’s enough. I can hear Lexi coming for the entrance of the doorway behind me. Before she gets to me, I’m already grabbing Greg’s shoulder and dragging him up the steps. He’s kicking at the steps, at their faces and hands, pushing himself up as he goes. I watch him flailing, pumping his shotgun again and expelling a shell that clatters on the wooden steps as another monster’s head turns to goo.
Lexi opens fire as I pull him over the threshold and back into the narrow hallway. Lexi’s pistol rips and pierces the swirling pit of darkness. With each flash of light from the muzzle I can see more and more faces. Whoever took over this house by force must have locked everyone down in the basement, keeping them there in the shadows to starve. Whatever process turned them into these nightmares is beyond me, but it had to have happened in that basement. I look at the flash of each shot fired and listen to the screams and the moans from within.
“On your feet,” I growl at Greg, pulling him up as he climbs to his feet and quickly pushes a few more shells into the shotgun that he scavenged from his pockets. Lexi is moving the other way and within a second, the first terror emerges from the dark doorway of the cellar. Pointing my pistol at the figure, I squeeze the trigger and I listen to the paralytic click.
I’m out of bullets.
“Crap,” I hiss, stuffing the Sig back in the holster behind my back and moving behind Greg, who still has his shotgun at least. Suddenly, I realize that Noah is upstairs and we don’t have the kind of munitions that are going to be needed to halt the advance of this army of flesh-hungry monsters. “Give me that,” I say to Greg, taking the shotgun from him before he can argue. He looks at me with a bewildered and confused expression. Before he can ask, I cut him off. “Go up and get Noah and help him out to the truck. We’ll hold these things off as long as we can.”
“Be ready to haul ass
out of here the moment we’re clear, alright?” Greg snaps at me.
“Just get Noah,” I tell him before raising the shotgun and hitting one of the creatures in the chest. The explosion that tears open the creature’s chest is enough to make me want to vomit. It sort of just hangs there while pieces of it fall out, slipping through the wound as it slouches, slumping over against the wall and losing more blood and gore before it slips down the wall.
On the other side of the door, Lexi has given up playing nicely as she too is out of ammo. Swinging the butt of the shotgun, she obliterates the face of one of the creatures coming out of the doorway, shattering the bone with an audible crack and crunch. The creature snaps its broken jaws before vanishing into the shadows. Lexi lets out a scream that would make any barbarian proud and swings again, jamming the butt of the gun into another creature’s ribs and sending it toppling away, flailing as it topples to the floor. More keep coming and I’m terrified for my sister. Gripping the shotgun, I pump it and point, blowing away the abdomen of another one of the creatures. It’s nearly sawn in half as it drops with a wet splat against the wooden floorboards of the house. I pump the shotgun, watching the casing fly away. Greg needs to hurry the fuck up.
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 82